


No Tomorrow

by ChestnutPatronus14



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World War II, Antisemitism, Blood and Gore, Child Abuse, Derogatory Language, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Holocaust, Isolation, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Neglect, Psychological Torture, Revenge, Starvation, Torture, Violence, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:57:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChestnutPatronus14/pseuds/ChestnutPatronus14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier had a normal life, or as normal a life as a telepath could be.<br/>Erik Lehnsherr had not a fear in the world, except for maybe a bad mark or two in school.<br/>Their lives were changed when World War II began.  Erik, a teenager, was sent to the camps, and discovered by Sebastian Shaw.  Many young mutants were selected by Shaw, and most died.  Erik had become used to it, until a boy, barely a teenager, was placed in the cell with him.  Charles had been sold by his step-father to Shaw, and had become the latest in a long line of victims...<br/>Their situation could not have been worse, death and destruction all around.  Yet some how, they connected, a bond that was dependent, as if they could not survive without each other.  A bond that would one day drive them to seek revenge on all those who had harmed them.</p><p>Please Note: There will be depictions of violence and gore in the fanfic.  It is rated what it is because of the ages of Erik and Charles at the start, and because of what occurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Charles

**Author's Note:**

> I am aware of the importance of accuracy with this fanfic, both historical and the backgrounds of the characters. This fanfic is a work of pure fiction, even if some of the events and places mentioned did happen and did exist. 
> 
> Please if you notice anything that is wrong with the historical information please let me know and I will happily fix it. 
> 
> Given the time when this fanfic took place and some of the events that will be described, that is the reason for the high rating on the fanfic.
> 
> Information in the fanfic is based on a combination of the comics, the movies, and my own ideas. I hope you like it.

It had been a normal day, a normal start to his day when the thoughts just started to trickle in, words and ideas that were not his own. It made no sense to him at the time, even if he was smarter than most children his age, to Charles it made no sense. How could he hear the thoughts of other people? He could remember the confusion, the pain as more and more thoughts flooded into his mind, and then he remembered his father finding him, talking to him…and showing him that he was not alone. His father, the great illusionist.

  
Hours he spent with Brian Xavier, and with him he was able to start to learn how to control his telepathy, even create small illusions like his father. Small animals, creatures that he could play with even when he felt most alone. He could see his favorite stories come to life before his eyes. It was their secret, something that they shared, something that even his inattentive mother could not have taken from him.

  
But Charles had noticed something odd when it came to his mother, the words she would say, they felt false, and the ones she thought seemed true. Mean and cruel things that no one should have thought about another person, and kind ones that were towards someone, someone who was not his father. He didn’t know the man, did not recognize him. He was only six years old, how was he supposed to comprehend the complexities of the situation, and the disaster that was about to unfold.

  
That had been several years ago, and since then Charles had learned how to control his ability, and had become far more powerful than anyone could have possibly imagined. He would beam with pride every time he figured out something else about his powers. The ability to control the minds of others, the ability to make small illusions appear, make himself appear in one place when he really was not actually there. It was all things that he would run up to his father to tell him, show him whenever he returned home from work. Charles had always been closer to his father than his mother, and for an eight year old with the intelligence that most adults would have been jealous of, it was incredible.

  
“Mother, can we go visit dad again?” he asked looking up at his mother with bright eyes. Names meant something to him, mother was formal fitting for the fact she wanted barely anything to do with him, dad for the one who actually tried to spend time with him. They had been there at his father’s lab for a visit, Brian Xavier had been showing his son around his laboratory, telling him how once he was old enough they could work together, something Charles was looking forward too more than anything else in the world.

  
The way he spoke, the way he addressed them revealed his true feelings towards his parents, his father with affection, and his mother with a formal title.

  
She had been about to answer, when Charles felt something, heard his father’s thoughts. The child whirled around and made to run towards the stairs when the explosion happened. “Dad!” He cried out, only to be held back by his mother. “Dad!” He tried to push her arm away, but he had never been strong, and he was small for his age. Tears were streaming down his cheeks.  
_Be strong Charles, never let anyone tell you that you are not special. You are, my special boy. Keep it secret, don’t let anyone find out. Be strong my son, I love yo-_

  
He felt it, the sudden darkness, the feeling of the body shutting down as the brain screamed out for air, trying to get the smoke out of his lungs. Again, Charles made a break for it trying to get to where his father was, only to be snatched up by someone else, his father’s partner. Charles kicked, screamed for his father, but nothing was going to calm him down.  
“Dad!”  
Days passed, weeks passed. The funeral came and went and Charles did not say a word to anyone. Not to his mother, not to Dr. Marko, and not to the stupid boy who had been hanging around. He read, held up in his father’s study, he read every book he could get his hands on. Mythology, classic literature, books on psychology and genetics. It made sense to him, he understood it all, but he spoke to no one. Not the teachers in school either, who were worried about him.

  
The first time Dr. Marko hit him, he still said nothing, just stared at him, and threw himself into his education, more determined than ever to escape the hell hole that had become the Xavier mansion. It was the first and last time he had been completely been silent around Dr. Marko, instead he became the dutiful son, always being the best.

  
At least…until he began to realize he could use his ability to avoid Dr. Marko, and to avoid Cain, his step-brother. It worked for a while, and Charles was okay with that. He spent all his time at school, and watched with others as the news of the new world war came to light. His stomach twisted itself into an uncomfortable knot, the things that those people had been going through were beyond anything he could ever imagine. Not that he would want too.

  
That night, with the news paper tucked under his arm and his schoolbag on his shoulder, he walked up the steps and froze right outside the door. He did not even have to go inside to know that it was a bad night. The thoughts coming from the house did that, and it was enough to get him to back away, and eventually turn and run. He grabbed his bike, and rode to the house next door, where his friend Raven lived. They were not close, but she always hid him when things got far too bad at home.

  
And that night, it didn’t work. By the time he had gotten there, Raven’s parents were there to turn him away and take him back to his house. The whole car ride, his stomach had tied itself into a knot, right up until he was inside and staring down his step-father.

  
He wasn’t listening to what he was saying, he saw no reason too. At least not until he saw the hand coming. His own shot out. “Stop!” And his step-father froze, staring at him with wide eyes. Oh, Charles had known in that moment that he had screwed up more than he had ever had in the past. “You will not do that again…” he said in a low voice. “You will leave me alone.”  
Charles ran then, up the stairs and into his room where he locked the door. He thought that would be the last of it, thought that he’d hear the end of it then. But the news paper in his hand should have served as a bad omen for him. Though, he did not know it yet.

  
A few days later, he was dragged from his bed by a man in a suit, an evil looking demon of a man. The last thing he saw of his old home, was his step-father being paid with a brick of gold. Then he was gone.


	2. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter from Erik's point of view. Some on the information is based on the XMFC movie, as well as the comic book, X-Men: Magneto Testament.  
> I hope you enjoy.

Max had never been the most popular student at his school, mostly because he looked so different from the rest of his classmates. They looked german, and he didn’t. He stood out, and that made him a target of the other boys. He was never expected to do well at recreational activities, even once having to give back a medal he had won, because no Jew boy could ever throw a javelin as well as a German boy. Times were changing, and he was aware of it, more than anyone else except for maybe his uncle, Erich, who warned his father of the danger that was starting to take hold of Germany.  
The war had changed everything, and Max could remember listening to the radio with his sister, terrified of what was happening. Even his teacher at school warned him of the impending danger, to be cautious, because he was a special boy, unique of his. He just had no idea how true that was.  
The night he witnessed the first horrific event of his life, was the night he gave the necklace he had been making of scraps from his father, Jakob’s, shop to Magda, the daughter of a cleaning lady at the school. Her smile had been worth the danger, but as he made his way home, he spotted a crowd, and watched, in horror, as his uncle was beaten, and a sign hung around his neck.  
Ich habe Deutsches mädchen geschändet! I have shamed a German woman.  
It was the night he watched his uncle get beaten, the night the laws of Germany began to change. 

September 15, 1935.  
So much has begun to change. There are so many new rules in place. The Nazis released their list of rules today. We are not citizens of the Reich, we cannot marry a German or anyone related to a german, nor can we…I guess one of the others does not apply, but it is why Erich was shamed in the square. We cannot even have the flag of our country any longer. It is like we’re no longer considered to be citizens… I don’t understand what is going on, but I’m scared. I wish poppa would take things more seriously, I fear for us all.  
M. E.

And things kept getting worse, he watched the days go by as the situation for him and his family darkened. The country was changing, the people were changing. It had never been stellar for their family, at least not as long as Max could remember, but this? This was like nothing he could have imagined. Even riding on the train with his father to go visit a friend was terrifying, turning over his passport that was now labelled with a large letter J, watching the look of disgust on the conductor’s face, and then stepping off the train to see the new colors of the Reich? Max wished that they had not gone, wished that his father had listened to his mother.  
It was why he was waiting on the street, why he was keeping out of sight to try not to be noticed. As his father came out of the building, he caught up to him, and watched with wide frightened eyes as the guards approached, asking the man who had followed his father out if they had been bothering him. He clutched t his father’s medal, his fist in the pocket of his coat. Max could barely remember how it escalated, but the next thing he remembered, his father was being dumped out of the building, and the man, the one who had been his father’s friend looked down his nose.  
“They could have killed him, we’re even now.”  
Max stared after the man, kneeling by his father. “Max…did you?” Max pulled his hand from his pocket, and uncurled his fingers, showing the medal. “Good boy Max,” his father muttered, hugging him close.

It had been a while since that night, and Max could still remember it. He had been up in bed, jotting down things in the journal he had been keeping, when he heard the sounds from outside. People were robbing stores, not people, the Germans were. He ran out of his room, to get his family, to try and get them to run away. What choice did they have? The second they were outside they watched as the temple exploded. It was the start of their time on the run, or at least the attempt too. Max could remember leading his family through the woods, his job because his eyes were the best. He had to get them somewhere, anywhere. And for them, the ghetto that was built in Warsaw seemed like the best option. His sister was sick…they could not keep running.  
Max stole food, snuck it, because the rations were so horrible. Most of the food they got went to his sister, Ruthie, sick in bed and fairing worse. During the day max would be on the streets, doing what he could for extra coin or food, but it was never enough. He also listened as people described what the Germans were doing, and how some did not believe that things were getting worse. That people were not dying.  
They ran again, and Max led them out through the wall around the ghetto, and through the woods. It worked for the most part. His father was helping his sister, and Max had his mother’s hand. When they heard something, his father pushed him and his mother back, down into a ditch. Max froze, he could hear the sound of the footsteps, his stomach twisted into a knot. He heard the soldiers tell everyone to get in line. He covered his mother’s mouth, he closed his eyes.  
Remember Max, sometimes you get a moment when everything lines up. When anything is possible. When suddenly you can make things happen.  
Then he heard the gun fire, loud thundering cracks, and the sound of what he could only guess to be bodies falling to the ground. He hoped that was it, he hoped it was the end. Max had no idea how long he lay there with his mother, his arms around her shaking frame. His father was dead. His sister was dead. They were alive and they had to live.  
“Momma come…we have to go,” he said in a hoarse whisper, trying to get her to stand. It was hard, she didn’t want to, but Max had to keep urging her. And they walked, walked until Max was certain his feet were going to fall off…  
For a while they were safe. They changed their papers, changed their names. Max became Erik, in honor of his uncle, and used the last name of Lehnsherr. His mother kept her name, but changed her last name. It was an attempt to severe any association to who they had been, a life they could never have again.  
1942, Max, no Erik he was Erik now, would never forget that year, or the train ride to Auschwitz. He had been hearing the stories, tales of what went on there, but he never would have thought that it could happen to him. He stayed close to his mother on the train, watched as the gates to the camp came into view.  
Arbeit macht frei. Work will make you free.  
He held onto his mother as they were led off the train, and down onto the platform. His eyes were forward, not daring to look around, and everything seemed, well to him it seemed horrible, and worse when they started to separate everyone. Erik was pulled away from his mother.  
Fear struck at him, deep in his core.  
“Momma!” He cried, reaching out to her, trying to get back to her as he was held back.  
“It’s okay Erik…” He heard her say.  
“Momma!” His hands were held out, towards the closing gate behind which the women and young children were going. Tears were in his eyes, he couldn’t lose her, not her, not after everything that they had gone through. Something weird happened though, he could feel the metal, feel the gate as it bent to his will. The entire gate seemed to cripple in towards him, towards his out stretched hands.  
Until everything went dark.  
Erik woke up in a cell with another boy, his arm bandaged. He did not dare look at it. He did not dare see what they had done to him. The other boy looked half dead, or…Erik moved a bit closer. No he was dead. Where was he? Where was his mother?  
A guard opened the cell door, and grabbed his arm, taking off the bandage. Numbers, they were numbers on his skin, and he was dragged away. He glanced back only to see the dead boy being dragged out of the cell. He was brought to a room that reminded him of his professor at school, an office. Although…off to the side was a room that held more terrifying instruments than he could ever imagine.  
“Hello Erik, I am Herr Schmidt. I heard about what happened at the gate.” The man, Herr Schmidt, said leaning back in his chair. “Chocolate?”  
Erik stood still just staring at him.  
“I want to see you do it again, so here’s what we’re going to do. Move the coin, and you can leave.”  
A look of surprise appeared on his features. He could leave? He could go home? He watched as Schmidt placed the coin on the desk. He hesitated then raised his hands, focusing all his energy on the coin. Nothing.  
It seemed like they tried for hours, but nothing happened, and by the end of the day he was exhausted.  
“Take him back to his cell, we will try again tomorrow. Bring in the next one.”  
As Erik was led back to his cell, he saw another boy being brought in, one who was missing several fingers. He huddled down in the corner of the cell, his eyes on the ground. Another child was brought in, only to disappear several hours later. It went on like that, he’d spend hours trying to move the coin, then sent back to a new cell mate who would disappear the following day.  
“We’re going to try again Erik,” he said in a stern voice. “But this time I think we should try something different.”  
Herr Schmidt rang a bell, and Erik looked towards the sound of the opening door and saw his mother. “Momma!” He ran over to her and hugged her close. “Momma…”  
He was pulled back away from her. “I’m going to count to three Erik, and then I want you to move the coin.”  
Erik’s eyes went wide and he focused on the count, trying to move it.  
“One.”  
“It’s okay Erik.”  
He saw the gun get raised, he wanted to move the coin, he wanted nothing more in his life than to move the coin.  
“Two.”  
“It’s okay.”  
Why wouldn’t the stupid thing move? Why couldn’t he get it to move?  
“Three.”  
BANG!  
Time seemed to slow. Erik looked over towards his mother’s dead body, laying there lifeless, because he could not do what he had been told. Anger, rage swelled up in him and he yelled his hands out stretched again. The helmets on the guards were crushed, the two of them falling to the ground dead. The metal in the room beside the office shook, and flew around the room. He had never felt that way, so angry, so full of rage because he had failed every single member of his family.  
As his breath ran out, his hands lowered, though his shoulders still shook.  
“Very good Erik, I believe we’ll have a lot to work on with you.”  
The coin was pressed into his palm, and it stuck there, held by some magnetic force.


	3. Charles

Charles stayed quiet the entire time he was in the car. The demon like man had dropped him off, and left without another word other than giving instructions that he did not understand. The thoughts were weird, all in German. Charles might have been smart for a twelve year old, but he did not know any single bit of the German language. All he knew, was that he had to keep quiet, and not say a thing. He knew what was coming. He shut his mind down, blocked out the word in the way his father had taught him. He stared out the window, shivering a bit.  
He watched as people were unloaded from a train, and split into two groups, there were young men reaching out for young women, infants crying, people who all looked terrified. He wanted to help them, but what could he do? He did not even know why he was there. It made absolutely no sense to him, and honestly, he was so frightened he wasn’t sure if he could speak if he wanted too.  
Charles was pulled from the car by a guard when it had stopped, and the guard looked towards the driver. “Sonderhäftling, verarbeitet und direkt an Herr Schmidt geschickt.” Charles had no idea what he said, but it did not sound good.  
“Besondere? Er ist ein kind.”  
“Sie wissen, Herr Schmidt, er mag sie jung.”  
Not a single idea. He was led, a gun pointed at his back, into a room where the others were being tattooed. He didn’t want to go forward, stood still until he was shoved forward. His sleeve was pulled up after he was forced into the seat.  
“Diese kleine Schlampe ist für Schmidt.”  
Charles saw the needles moving towards his arm, and his heart began to race. He closed his eyes focused on something anything else. A small bear, invisible to everyone but him, appeared in his lap. The cub looked up at him with sad eyes. It was enough to barely feel the needles as they punctured his skin over and over, only to have ink rubbed into them. His eyes moved to his arm only when he heard someone ask something that sounded urgent. He focused again on the person in front of him, then back to his arm. 226345. That was the number crudely inked onto his arm.  
Again, he was pulled to his feet, and shoved forward to keep him walking. He passed others getting the mark, and a quick glance outside showed him the rows of buildings, and the large smoke stack in the distance, the gray clouds lost to the darkening sky. He saw lines of women and children being led down a thin pathway and into something he figured would be showers, given that they had towels and bits of soap.  
The next room was worst than the first. People were undressing, then going over to others to have their heads shaved.  
“Sich ausziehen.”  
Charles glanced towards him, the guard who spoke, then followed what the rest were doing. He got out of his clothes, and his shoes, though he had to stand on his tip toes to get them on the hooks. He heard laughter, people pointing. He closed his eyes, his cheeks burning hot as he tried to cover himself. He jumped when someone slapped his behind, scampering forward to the person who was doing the shaving.  
“Ist er ein Judenjunge?”  
“Nein, er ist Engländer. Schmidts neues Spielzeug.” That word Charles caught Engländer. It had to mean England, or British. Something.  
“Armes kleines Ding gewesen wäre besser dran, wenn in die Kammer.”  
“Schmidt will ihn, wie ist. Haben eine der anderen zu bekommen Kleidung für ihn.”  
The guard took him off to the side, and gave him a wet rag. Charles glanced up at him and quickly used it to wash himself. He figured that was what he was supposed to do. The water was cold, and he was shaking by the time he held it back out to him. The guard slapped his hand way, and Charles dropped his eyes. He only looked up when he was presented with a small stack of clothes, which he pulled on quickly. He did not understand what was happening or why these people were here, or why he was there.  
But he followed, he kept his head down and tried to pick up different words. He glanced up towards the guard when he was led outside. The air stank, though of what he had no idea, just that it was a smell he was not certain he’d ever forget. There were some people looking towards him, guards smirking. He didn’t like it, in fact it made him feel even worse. There was another building, one that seemed separate from the rest of the camp, and that was the one he was brought to. The name, Schmidt, was on the door, and he was pushed forward into another hallway. At the end of the hall was what looked like a study, and a medical room, something he found quite odd.  
“Herr Schmidt, dies ist die neue,” the guard told the man behind the desk.  
“Sehr gut. Lassen Sie ihn in der Prüfung Tisch sitzen.”  
Charles looked from the man, back to the guard who was nudging him over towards the small medical area that looked to be recently redone. A part of him wondered why, another part of him was almost terrified to know. The guard pointed towards the exam table, and Charles hesitated before he carefully climbed onto the table. The guard left.  
That alone was enough to terrify him to the bone. The man, the one he figured was probably this Schmidt person moved from behind the desk over towards him. “Wie heißen Sie?”  
Charles looked up at him, wishing he felt braver than he did, or at least looked like it. He didn’t answer, he didn’t know what was being asked.  
“Wie heißen Sie?”  
“I-I don’t understand…” he said, his voice shaking sightly.  
“What is your name?”  
“C-Charles.”  
“Hello Charles, my name is Herr Schmidt,” he said taking Charles’s arm, writing the numbers down on the pad of paper he brought over. “How old are you?”  
“Twelve…”  
“Your first time away from home isn’t it?”  
Charles nodded This man seemed nice enough but he didn’t trust him.  
“Nothing to worry about so long as you do what I say… Open your mouth.”  
Charles did, fear driving him.  
“You certainly are a healthy boy aren’t you?” Herr Schmidt looked into his eyes, one at a time. “You’d be the perfect boy if you had a mop of blonde hair, bet that could be arranged though. Would you like that? Looking like you’d fit in?”  
Charles did not know how to answer that question.  
“Perhaps one day, already a handsome lad, be a shame to hide you away.”  
Charles looked down towards his hands, but stayed silent.  
“Tell me…your father spoke of a unique gift of-“  
“He was not my father.”  
“Pardon?”  
“He murdered my father.”  
“Then the man I spoke with said you had quite a talent. Could you show me?”  
Charles fell silent.  
“Charles I asked you a question. It is rude not to answer. Tell me about your gift.”  
Keep it secret, keep it safe.  
Still, Charles said nothing. Schmidt sighed, and back handed him, hard enough that his face was red where his hand it. “I’m going to give you some time to rest, you must be tired…But I do expect an answer later on.”  
The man named Schmidt turned his back on him ringing a small bell to have the guard come and get him, dragging Charles back to the cell where there was another boy, one older than him.


	4. Erik

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter. Some of the information in this chapter is historical information taken from the US Holocaust Memorial Museum's website from their online encyclopedia. Other information, specifically some things about Erik, were based on Magneto Testament.
> 
> This chapter is darker. Topics include dead children, and implied medical experimentation. You've been warned.

It had been an uncomfortable routine that he had fallen into. Each day started the same, he’d wake up, and be seen by one of the assistants Schmidt had, checked for bugs and made sure he was just healthy enough to survive. Only just, the food was awful, and most of the time it made his stomach turn with a sick feeling. He didn’t want to eat most days, started complying after he was threatened to have a tube shoved down his throat to make sure he had something. After all, a dead specimen would serve Herr Schmidt no good. That was what one of the guards had told him as he set down the cup of the most vile sludge called coffee he had ever had. It was supposed to last him through the morning, that and any bit of bread he did not scarf down out of hunger.  
He wasn’t the only one still alive, there were two others, kept in the cells across from him. A teenager who looked like a monster from the stories he had been told; red skinned with a devil’s tail. The other was a boy, could not have been more than six, who seemed to be able to make a wind storm in his cell. Erik did not know their names, just what Schmidt called them; Azazel and Riptide. Names that seemed to describe what they were, not who they were. The three could not talk much, language was an issue for the three of them. Erik wasn’t sure what language Riptide knew, but he spoke broken German, and Azazel spoke Russian and German. It was enough for them to survive in that cursed brick prison. Once in a while, Erik threw a scrap of bread to Riptide, who reminded him of his younger sister.  
The three learned never to expect that the others would stay long, most different. So many other children came through never to come back…and it was Erik who had to take care of them. He was the one who after Schmidt was done, would drag the corpses to the crematorium He would see the others, watch them as the took the corpses from the buildings near the smoke stacks, and bring them there. Each time a new child Schmidt had who disappointed him, he’d have Erik take them. It was a routine he had fallen into, something that he could always expect to happen.  
He had not agreed at first, had out right refused to move the first body, his own mother’s. At least…until Schmidt had offered him a bit more food. That had become the bribe for him, food. Work for food, food meant he could survive. Sometimes life offered you a single moment, and you had to take it. Erik wanted to show them all that they were wrong, that they could fight, that they could survive if they only had a way. When he was not hauling the corpses, something that normally would exhaust him to the point where he collapsed onto the wood plank called a bed until it was time for dinner, he spent it with Schmidt.  
Schmidt wanted him to use his powers see how much he could do, what he could do. The thing he seemed most intrigued about was what he had done to the guards, crushed their skulls by crushing the helmet. So that was how it was, each day for a good week or so, Erik could not be sure he lost track of time, he crushed things. Each item was bigger or thicker than the last. One after the other, training his skill, his ability that made him so unique. That was what Schmidt kept reminding him about. That he was special.  
Erik did not like it, it did not sound like the way his old teacher or his father had said it about him. There was something wicked in the way Schmidt told him.  
Same thing with how he always greeted Riptide before it was his turn for practice. That deviously sweet voice that could fool a lamb to befriend a wolf. The boy always came back upset and exhausted, not often, Schmidt did not take him to the medical room as much as him or Azazel. Those days when he did, Erik would always give the boy a bit more food. Or tell him stories that his mother had told him. He wasn’t sure if the child understood, but it seemed to help.  
It had been just past breakfast call, more sludge like coffee, and Erik had been tossing bits of his left over bread into Riptide’s cell, when the guards came.  
“Lehnsherr, you have been reassigned for today.”  
Erik looked up, getting to his feet. It was better to follow orders than not, he had learned. It was far easier to do that than anything else.  
“You will be helping clear out the hospital barracks. The doctor finished his experiments and wanted someone to clean up. The last group of Sonderkommandos has been disbanded, and the train is not due in for another couple hours. You are the only one available.”  
He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach about what the guard had meant by disbanded. He followed, keeping his eyes on the ground as he moved through the long rows of barracks, surrounded by fence and barbed wire. People with thin bodies and sunken eyes stared at him as he past, being led towards the hospital barracks. He waited outside with the guard as the doctors, one he had heard whispers of being a monster, left laughing and talking as if it was all some big game to them.  
“Go in, remove the corpses, and take them to the crematorium. Do not touch anything, do not speak to anyone.”  
The knot in his stomach seemed to grow worse as he climbed the steps into the hospital barrack. The stench hit him as if he had just walked into a brick wall; horrible medicinal smell mixed with bleach and who knew what else. There was someone else in there, another person alive who looked like a prisoner. The man’s eyes held nothing but sorrow. The man did not speak to him, just went about cleaning the bloody tools that were on a table.  
The sight next to the table, however, broke his heart. A set of twin boys, who could not have been more than eight years old, dead on the table, sewn together. The stench as he got closer made his stomach lurch and his hand flew to his mouth, trying to stem back the wave of nausea that threatened to take hold.  
Don’t feel. Don’t breathe. Nothing I can do now…  
He tried to force back the feelings, back the anger and the nausea as he dragged the dead bodies from the table. It was too hard to carry, and he spotted what had to be a cart used for moving the dead bodies, and he managed to get the body onto it, covering it with the bloody sheet. The two boys, god he could not even begin to imagine the pain that the boys had to have been in. Each step he took towards the crematorium, pushing the cart, only made him feel worse. These two should have been in school, been with their family, not lying dead beneath the sheet.  
Erik smelt the smoke before he got there, the knowledge of what was happening did not escape him. He stopped just outside, lugging the corpse inside the crematorium, and, with a bit of difficulty, managed to get them into the chamber. There were two others there, loading other corpses into the other tubes. His hand shook as he closed the door, and let the fire consume the two dead boys.  
His eyes moved to some of the other bodies, and one he recognized, his teacher from school. The man was nothing more than a skeleton, with a blood stained uniform, and a bullet hole in his skull. He had been right about what disbanded had meant, and again he started his chant.  
There is nothing I can do…I have to wait. I have to be patient.  
The day kept going, life kept going. It took several more trips to and from the hospital barracks to the crematorium before he was done. As he left, the new prisoners must have arrived, for on his way back he saw the doctor offering candies to another set of twins.  
There is nothing I can do…I have to wait. I have to be patient.  
It was supper time by the time he was back by the barracks where he lived, and he watched as Schmidt raised a gun, and fired it. It was a sound he was used too, the crack of a gun. Normally it was closer to the black wall, but he was not surprised. Schmidt saw him and the guard, and grinned a bit.  
“Ah, Erik, you are back. I heard you worked well, impressed the good doctor Mengele. There is a surprise for you waiting on your bed. However, I am sorry, another one of your cellmates did not work out.”  
A fourth who had died, it meant there would be another line dug into the stone wall. He didn’t trust the surprise, and if it was more food he’d give it to Riptide anyways. Erik nodded his head, and was led back into the building. He spotted what Schmidt had meant, sitting on the bed was half a bar of chocolate. He did not want it, not after what he had seen. Through the stone bars, he slid the chocolate across the hall to Riptide, and gave the small boy a smile, before he turned to his dinner.  
Black bread, and a bit of cheese.  
Erik had finished it when the sound of footsteps caught his ears. He sat with his back against the wall, watched as more children were led into the basement. If only they knew that most of them would die within the next few days. He pitied them, wished he could do something to protect them.  
He wasn’t even fully aware that someone had opened up his cell door and locked it again, when he heard someone speak. He didn’t understand it, was pretty sure whoever it was spoke English…  
“My name is Charles…Do you know where I am?”


	5. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Information in this chapter is dark again, implication (and stated) some of the horrors that happened and went on during the Holocaust.  
> There is mentions of death, torture, and again, medical experimentation in this chapter. You've been warned.

Charles had waited just by the door that led to the basement with other children, and he was certain that, despite his size, he was the youngest. They looked different, some seemed more odd than others, and he had no idea why they were all there, or what it was that they all had in common. His eyes were on the ground, only looking up when they were led down the steps into the basement. His curiosity got the better of him, and he glanced up. The cells were made of bars with stone, something that seemed odd to him, and the doors were wooden. Nothing about the room made sense. He stiffened though when he thought he saw the demon man who had picked him up, and was pushed forward and through an open door.  
It closed behind him, and Charles looked around, spying someone else in there with him. He looked older, and something about his eyes made him look like he had seen far too much.   
“Hello.”  
No response.  
“My name is Charles…do you know where I am?”  
The other boy looked over towards him, but did not smile, gave no indication what so ever of being friendly. “Erik.” Then the other boy looked away. His other question went unanswered.   
Charles figured it might have been because of his language, he had said his name with an accent. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been the best idea to talk after all. So he sat against the other corner, his legs hugged against his chest. He was cold, and wanted nothing more to be at home in his own room. It would not happen, Charles, even though he was young, knew what happened, what his step-father had done. He had made a promise that if he ever got out of there, he’d make Dr. Marko pay for what he did to his father, and for selling him.  
He listened as some of the others started to speak, most in languages that he did not understand. He caught some names, nothing that he thought was worth remembering. He held out his hand a bit, the small bear cub appearing just by his hand. It brought a bit of a smile to his features, to feel the fur beneath his finger tips. He knew it was all an illusion, one he was able to develop through reading endless books.  
The rooms got darker, to the point where he was certain that the darkness would swallow them all whole. Not that Charles thought he’d be able to sleep, he was too frightened by everything that had happened. Not to mention the fact that with him feeling so scared, it was hard for him to stay in control. He could practically feel the pain of everyone within the camp. How could anyone sleep when they could feel that?  
The next morning, he was brought back to Schmidt. He sat in the chair, stared at his hands, and listened as Schmidt talked about why he wanted Charles to show him what he could do. That knowing would only help to further his research, maybe even help save the lives of people. At some point Schmidt stopped talking, and must have been saying his name. It wasn’t until there was a loud crash on the desk did Charles look up.  
“Charles, I am trying to be nice here, why aren’t you cooperating?” Charles did not answer him. “Did you eat this morning?”  
Had he? He could not actually remember. He might have, but he was far more tired than anything else.   
“Here,” Schmidt said, holding out what, to Charles’s amazement, was chocolate. “You can have this…only if you show me something.”  
Charles hesitated his hand out stretched towards the one thing he was sure he could get down into his stomach. “I-I can’t…” he said pulling his hand back suddenly. “I can’t…”  
Schmidt sighed and shook his head, as if he was disappointed in him. He stood up, and waved his hand, the guard came and took him back to his cell. There was a small cup in there, as well as the other boy who held another cup. Charles picked it up and made a face, but managed to drink down the sludge. It was vile compared to what he was used to, tea.  
It went on like that for several days, and not once did he speak to his cellmate again. He’d go, Schmidt would try to get him to talk, to show him his power, and Charles would say he couldn’t. It was not that he did not want to…he was fairly certain that if he kept refusing he’d disappear like some of the other children did. It was that he could not understand what people were thinking. Their thoughts were in German, and though Charles had picked up on some words, he had not figured out everything. Only the basics. Hello, good-bye, that herr was similar to mister or sir. Basics really.  
Most of the time though, he spent watching the others that were kept down there. Sure one by one they disappeared but a few stayed close, a few stayed alive. The demon like man couldn’t control whatever he could do, enough that he had a heavy leather collar around his neck and was tied down. The youngest…he could not quite put his hand on it, it looked like a whirlwind he could create…but it felt wet, damp. Though that could have been because the entire camp felt damp. Then there was his cellmate. Charles only could recall him coming and going, nothing else.  
He had gotten used to the relative silence that he received from the others there. They all had a different reason, something about them that had been targeted, not just whatever it was that they could do. Charles had saw it, the moment in their minds. It was too much, the weight of it all. All he wanted to do was take away the pain he was seeing from these people around him. He couldn’t, or if he could, he would not know how. It was just something he could not seem to escape.  
Just like the daily meetings with Herr Schmidt. They got worse and worse, and still nothing Schmidt did could make him show him what he could do, or admit the other reason why he couldn’t.  
Charles never saw it coming, but he should have guessed that something might have happened like that. One second he had just been sitting there, staring down towards the ground. The next Schmidt had grabbed his wrist, dragged him into the medical area. Terror shot through him, his eyes going as wide as saucers, and, even if he was starting to feel the effects of lack of food and proper sleep, he struggled tried to pull away.  
The cold metal on the palm of his hand did nothing to lessen the fear, not when he saw the mallet. “N-No!” He cried out, too late. The mallet was brought down on his finger. At first he felt nothing, just a numbness from the shock of it all, the agony came later, even if it was a few seconds it felt like hours.   
And he finally gave Schmidt what he had wanted. He lashed out, a screeching sound penetrating the mind of the man so close to him. Schmidt froze his hands going to his head, giving Charles what he needed. He backed away, hugging his hand to his chest, tears welling up in his eyes. His other hand, trembling was raised. “Y-You won’t come near me!” He yelled at Schmidt. “You will stay away from me!”  
He saw the guard and stared at the man who pointed a gun towards him. “Aufhören!”  
From the tone, from the gun and the look, Charles could figure out what that word meant. He stopped, holding his hand close to him, huddled into a corner away from Schmidt. He didn’t look up, he just waited for what he was absolutely certain would come.  
Clap, clap clap.  
What? He looked up, confusion in his eyes, still as tears fell down his cheeks. Schmidt was…clapping?  
“I knew you were powerful Charles.” Schmidt walked over towards him and bent down so he could look into Charles’s eyes. “See that’s what happens when you continue to disobey me, now you don’t want to get hurt again do you?”  
Charles shook his head, and watched as Schmidt took a hold of a small amount of bandages and, very poorly, wrapped the finger he had just broken.   
“Take him back to his cell. Given him an extra piece of cheese with dinner. The boy has just proved his worth.”  
His eyes were on the ground as he was led back to the cell that had become his ‘home’ of sorts. It was cold, dark, and felt more like a box than a cell. A place with no light, no hope… The place he was convinced that he was going to die in. He took his normal spot in the corner, his hand held to his chest.  
He did not hear the other boy, Erik, speak, not at first. Not until he had moved closer to him. “I see?”  
Charles glanced towards him. “You see…?”  
Erik gestured towards his hand. “Help fix.”   
Charles had no idea why suddenly Erik seemed like he wanted to help him. He could have found out quite easily, but he was shaken, and tired. He hesitated for a second then showed him his hand, and watched as Erik carefully undid the bandages around his swollen and bloodied finger.   
“Herr Schmidt?”  
The only response Charles gave was a nod.  
“Do better if listen.”   
“I know…just…can’t understand. English, not German.”  
“Hurt.”  
It caught Charles off guard, just enough that when Erik moved his finger sharply to align the bones as much as he could, that any of the walls Charles had put up around his mind went down. He yelped, and froze his eyes going wide yet again.  
He could see everything. Through the eyes of those who’s minds he entered. A man putting a body into a grave. A young woman sobbing over the body of a dead child, speaking another language that Charles did not recognize. A man with a face mask, a large needle going right towards the man who’s eyes he was seeing through. And people screaming, clawing at the walls and coughing in what looked like a chamber of some sorts. A man being shot point blank in the back of his head.  
“Charles!”   
That voice, Erik’s voice. Right? Yes that was right. He looked towards, him, his pulse racing, struggling to catch his breath. There was pain on Erik’s face, and Charles pulled back, tried to stop it. Tried to force back the-  
He heard the door open and he turned his eyes onto the soldier, one of two, who had just walked into the cell. Anger, a rage he did not know that he could feel built up inside of him. He focused on him, all that anger and pain and fear concentrated on that soldier who had stepped into the cell. The man started to scream, clutching at his head. All at once, the sound stopped, and the man was on the ground.  
The other soldier cursed and dragged the dead body out of the cell locking the door behind him.  
Charles was shaking from head to toe, the tears back in his eyes. What had he just done?   
“Charles. Did good.” It was Erik, the other boy who had moved back to him. The one who had taken his hand again to carefully wrap his fingers.  
“I…I killed-“  
“Bad man. Was bad man. Hurt you. Hurt us. Did good.”  
Charles looked towards Erik, he had done a good job. Erik was pleased that he had done that, that he had killed one of the bad men…  
It was a good thing that he had killed the bad man, the man who would have killed him.  
Maybe there was something that he could do after all.


	6. Erik

There was something different about the other boy who shared his cell, something that just seemed a bit different.  Special.  That was how Erik had started to think of him, special.  He was lasting far better than any of the others had, something about him, Schmidt seemed to like.  Not just Schmidt either, some of the others there as well.  Riptide especially.  Erik wasn’t sure what it was that Charles was doing, but the young boy seemed to be far more alive than he had in the past.  Maybe they’d get through it after all, the horrors and the pain and everything else that was bad or wrong with the world, maybe they’d survive after all.

Erik would sit and watch as after Riptide, whose name he learned from Charles was Janos, as Charles would do something, stretch out his hand as far as he could for a moment, and suddenly Janos seemed to become happier.  Delighted.  Hell, he could have sworn that even once he had seen Charles help lull Janos to sleep.  If he was not working, he found himself just watching Charles.  He did not trust it though, that someone could stay so kind even in the hell they were living in, and he was certain that one day Charles would disappear from there.

Another visit with Schmidt meant he had more rewards, even if his entire body ached, and all he wanted to do was rest.  He had done well, helped to rebuild a broken part of fence that the other prisoners simply couldn’t.  It was a show and Erik knew it, why else were there other people watching?  He heard them whispering, talk of what luck they had, about an army that Schmidt was building of these special soldiers, ones who could do things beyond the imagination.

A demon teen who could teleport.  A child who could create whirlwinds.  A boy who seemed to be able to read minds, and of course himself, one who could manipulate metal.  An army indeed.

But he must have done well with the fence, as he was given actual food, not the hard bread and bit of cheese.  Real food, enough that he was able to share it with Janos, who looked so delighted as Erik tossed him bits of the food he was sure the boy would blow down the bars of the cell.  It wasn’t much though, just a few more slices of bread, cheese, and sausage.  Enough that it would last him that night and easily in the morning…were he not sharing it with Janos, and Azazel.

Charles wasn’t in the cell, that was what he had noticed when he had gotten back and had began to split up the ‘feast’ he had brought back with him.  His mind went to the worst possible scenario, that Schmidt had disposed of the one person who Erik had been convinced might actually stay for a while.  It would not have surprised him, Charles, no matter how powerful, always seemed to anger the guards or Schmidt.  Erik had heard yelling more than once while Charles was in with Schmidt, so it really would not have surprised him.

What he really wanted to know was if that strange little English boy was going to come back.  It was not something that he could necessarily describe with words so easily, why he was thinking of that boy who really meant nothing to him.  Or did he?  Could Charles have begun to mean something to him?  Maybe he had and maybe that was why he was saving some of his food for the other boy who had killed a guard so easily. His mind was going to places it shouldn’t.  Thoughts of escape were suddenly so vivd that they were almost impossible to quench.  It was possible that they could get out of there, that they could finally escape the living hell that they had been cursed to, and maybe they could even help the others as well.

He looked up at the sound of his cell door opening and watched as Charles was shoved back in.  The boy still walked with his hand curled against his chest, and still looked pretty damn close to a scared puppy whenever anyone got close to him.  Erik did not want to admit it, but he was actually glad to see that Charles had survived, and that he was back in the cell. 

“Let me.”  He held out his hand towards Charles, offering more to check his finger, than offer any sort of comfort to the person who he could barely communicate with.  

It took a moment before Charles held out his hand, and Erik noticed something different about him, in those eyes.  The light had gone from them, that light which had once shown such defiance had disappeared as he had seen happen to others.

“You tell home?” Erik carefully started to unwrap the bandaged fingers.  It was a horrible patch job, but what other choice did he have?  Schmidt never did anything for them to help with the wounds, but at least with the dirty old bandage, Charles would be able to still use his hand.  His finger was still black and blue, the bruises darkest around where the break was, and Erik carefully rewrapped the fingers again, using one for support of the other.

Charles didn’t start to speak, just stayed quiet and Erik looked up at him, confusion on his features.  Had he not made sense?  He thought his attempt at English had been good.  “How here?”

Erik could practically feel the eyes of the others on them, wanting to know how someone like Charles had gotten there.  They each had their own story, Erik had been captured as had Azazel, Janos had been given up by his parents, but this boy?  This English boy who seemed far to intelligent to be in a place like that?

“My father sold me, my mother let him.”

It was as if the air had been sucked from his lungs at the revelation of how Charles had ended up there.  Sold, he had been sold.  That word he knew, as well as mother and father.  Sold by his parents.  Erik had no response to that, how could he?  There was nothing to say really.  He finished wrapping his fingers, and let Charles take his hand back.

The boy pushed back towards the corner of the cell, his legs huddled to his chest, his injured hand held close to his body.  To Erik he looked like a kicked dog, an animal so beaten that he had just started to give up.  Whatever Schmidt had done to him, had done enough damage to cause this boy to act that way.  

Erik wouldn’t have it, he would not let that happen again.

He had half the bar of chocolate left, most of it had gone to Janos.  The plan had been to save it, wait a while then give it to the child, but Charles seemed to need it.  He moved closer to him, and held up a bit of the chocolate by Charles’s lips.  “Eat.”

It seemed like forever before Charles started to eat the bits of chocolate offered to him.  By the time each piece was gone, Charles’s head was on Erik’s shoulder.  It was the first time in a long time that he had let someone get that close to him, and in the past he would have pushed him away.  Not anymore, he needed Charles to survive, he needed him to be strong.


	7. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about the German in this chapter. I do not know how to post a translation within the text itself, and I tried in a note at the end but it seemed sloppy. I do apologize for it, but it is also done this way because Charles does not know German.

It was a few days before Charles had been taken from the cell again since the night Erik had given him the few bits of chocolate, but it had been a turning point.  In the time spent in the cell, he started to practice with his ability, even if it was small things.  The animals that he liked to create, such as the little bear cub which normally no one else saw, he let Erik see.  Most of his time though he spent trying to distract Janos, the little boy who Charles wanted to get out of there.  He would reach out with his ability, show him the stories that Charles had been read as a child, let him interact with the small animal projections that he cherished so much.  

One day he did show Erik, let him see the small animals that he had started to project again that helped to keep him sane.  It was almost enough to make him smile, seeing the amazement in Erik’s eyes.  It was short lived though, soon enough a guard had come and dragged him from the cell.  Charles hated it, hated how his arm was grabbed and he was yanked to his feet.  Back down the hall he was led to- No it was to a different room.  Inside there was what looked like a shower, and a tub.  A bathroom?  It did not make sense to him.

Clothes were shoved at him as he was pushed towards the shower.  “Dusche.”  

The door was closed, and Charles heard the lock click behind him.  It took a moment for him to settle down his now frayed nerves before he carefully got out of the clothes he had been wearing and stepped into the water.  His heart was pounding so fast, remembering some of the images he had seen just by a glimpse that day his finger had been broken.  His fingers shook as he reached towards the shower handle, turning it.  Charles honestly expected something other than water to come out, but it was.  It was ice cold but it was water.  He washed quickly not daring to spend more time in there than he had to.

There was only a scrap of a towel which looked like it had been there for so long, but Charles was so cold he used it anyways.  Things that he would have insisted upon at one point suddenly seemed trivial. Clean towels, a shower, and food.  Not important things, things that could be used a bribe to get him to cooperate.  Mostly dry, he put on the clean clothes, holding the dirty ones close to his chest as he knocked on the door signaling he was done.  The dirty clothes were taken from him, and he was led down the hall to where Schmidt was.

Charles stood by the door his eyes on the ground hardly daring to look up towards the other man.

“Ah Charles there you are, I have a special job for you today.”

That was probably more terrifying to him than being told he had to shower.  He lifted his eyes to look towards Schmidt, his lips pressed into a thin line. None of this made sense, and he had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach about what was going to come next.  

“You are a fine lad, intelligent, handsome, well spoken.  You’re going to come with me, we’re going to go see a few of my friends today Charles.  If you do a good job you’ll get a special reward.”

A special reward?  

“What sort of reward?” he asked, not entirely sure if he really believed that he could get such a thing.  A reward was a good thing, maybe something that he could share with Erik who had been so kind to him.  

“Food Charles.  Food for you and your friends down there.”  It sounded to good to be true.  “Good food, enough for several days if you do well and do exactly as you are told.  What do you think Charles?”

“Yes.”  There was no hesitation, he could not think of anything else that he would have said otherwise.  Food for all of them, food that wasn’t stale and so hard to swallow.  “Maybe water too?”

“We’ll see just how well you do my boy.”  Schmidt stood up and moved to put a hand on his shoulder.  “Come along we have some other clothes for you to wear.”  He was led into the medical area, where once again he changed his clothes.  From the striped pajamas, into clothes that were more familiar and made him feel more human.  Schmidt had him sit down in a chair, and brought in someone to cut his hair.

“A boy like you could go on to do great things Charles, I want to show my friends that you are not someone who is diseased, that you are someone special, someone who could help us greatly.”  Charles just kept his eyes forward, closing them only when the scissors got closer to his face. “They will ask you questions and you will give them the correct answers.  Prove your worth and you’ll stay longer.  Prove your worth and you’ll get more food.”  Schmidt took his injured hand and undid the dirty bandage replacing it with a splint and a clean, white bandage to stabilize his fingers.  “If they ask, it happened on the train, someone had stepped on your hand.”

It seemed like forever before he was led out of the barracks and outside for the first time in days.  He looked around, seeing others walking around, some in uniforms, some in the striped clothes, but what was most disheartening, was the smell.  He could smell smoke, and the damp earth beneath his shoes as he followed Schmidt like a good puppy eagerly seeking rewards.

He was led into a large house where he could smell food so good it nearly made his mouth water, but he fought the instinctual urge.  Charles stood up as straight as he could manage, trying to give up the appearance that he was feeling fine, rather than wanting to huddle in a ball and shiver.  The clothes were large on him, but he was also thinner than he had once been.

The room Schmidt led him into reminded him of the sitting room, with large couches and men in uniforms sitting on them talking among themselves.  There was food on the coffee table, and all Charles could think about for a long moment was running up to the table and shoving the food into his pockets.  

“Ach Herr Schmidt, das ist der Junge, du gesprochen?”  One man spoke, getting up walking over to Schmidt.  Charles glanced at him, and knew more than he wanted to know about that man.  A doctor with a sick mind.

“Ja. Dies ist Charles, ein schönes Beispiel dafür, wie seine Krankheit muss nicht sein Leben zu behindern. Er ist schön und intelligent, und könnte einen guten Zweck, uns am Ende beweisen.”  As Schmidt spoke, the other man stood in front of Charles.  He kept his eyes forward as the man grasped his chin and forced him to look into his eyes, checked his teeth, and turned his head from side to side.

God he felt like a dog.

“Hat er Deutsch sprechen?”

“Nein, nur Englisch.”

There was a moment, when no one spoke, the doctor going back to sit down on the couch where he had been earlier.  Charles felt a knot forming in the pit of his stomach so uncomfortable he thought he might be physically ill.

“How old are you boy?”

“Twelve, sir.”  He kept his eyes forward, his hands behind his back.

“Where are you from?”

“England.”

Another man leaned forward looking at him with eyes that Charles were certain could set him on fire if he was not careful.  “Are your parents with you at the camps boy?”

 _Answer correctly, Charles.  If you answer incorrectly, your cellmate will pay the price._ The thought rang out louder in his mind than he realized.  Schmidt’s thought, his voice.  _Remember why you are here._

“No sir, I was a problem to my parents.  Herr Schmidt was merciful enough to relieve them of the burden I brought to my family.”

“Very well spoken, you said he was intelligent Schmidt?”

“When he became to much of a burden to his parents, he was set to entire Harvard University in the United States.”

“Harvard University at the age of twelve?  A brilliant child indeed,” the man who spoke leaned back his eyes still on Charles.

Another man who Charles could just feel the hatred coming off of him leaned forward and whispered into the ear of another man.  “What would he do if he was allowed to leave the camp and become a German citizen?”

Schmidt looked towards Charles.  “Answer, I will translate it for you.”  _You will repay the country that showed you mercy by allowing you to be set free and live.  You would do what you could to prevent corruption and the disruption of the mission.  You will do what you are told._

“I would repay the country that showed me mercy by allowing someone like me to be free.”  The words tasted horrible in his mouth.  “I would do what I could to make sure no others like me would corrupt the country and disrupt the mission.”  Charles felt like he was going to be sick, his stomach churning uncomfortably.  “I would do as I was told.”

He did not remember much after that.  Schmidt had translated and then had Charles go stand in a corner.  All he did was stand there, his eyes not watching anything in particular.  It felt like he had just betrayed everything he had ever known and held dear to him, but what choice had he had?  It was answer correctly and get the food, answer wrong, then something would have happened to Erik. The noise was growing louder in his head with each passing moment and all he wanted to do was hold his head and hide.

“Charles.”  He looked up towards Schmidt who was standing in front of him.  “It is time to go.”  He followed Schmidt without question wanting, craving the fresh air.  “I am going to show you around, so you know what the camp is like.  You will come to another party again, you impressed them.”  That did nothing to comfort Charles as he followed Schmidt, his shoulders shaking.  He could hear the sounds of a train, people shouting as they got off of the train.

Schmidt led him off to the side, and all Charles could do was watching as people were split into different groups.  Men and young men one way, women, children, and the elderly another way.  “The people who work hard are separated, they can provide a use to us, the others are examined more closely, and then divided again.”  Charles had a bad feeling he knew exactly what Schmidt meant when people were divided again.

Schmidt grabbed his arm, and led him away, though Charles kept his eyes on the people.  “What I am going to show you know Charles, is why you should be grateful for all I do for you.”  He was taken over to a barrack, the door open.  The smell hit him, and Charles’s free hand went to his mouth trying to stop the sudden wave of nausea that hit.  “They live in places like these, get less food than you, and have no light.  Look at all I provide to you.”  Again, he was half dragged, but he saw a sign he recognized and put the breaks on, digging his heels into the dirt.

That sign, people went in and never came back out.  People went in and they died and he could hear them screaming already.  “You would have ended up in there, you and the others.  Do you see?  Do you understand yet?”

His head was spinning, his arm where Schmidt was holding him so tightly ached, and what he saw next made his eyes go completely wide.  There was a wall that looked almost black, people lined up in front of it.  “And this is what happens to the people who do not do as they are told.”  

“Fertig!” Charles heard someone say, and he tried to shield his eyes. The soldiers raised their guns, pointed towards the people standing by the wall.

“You will watch.”

“Ziel!”  Charles stared, helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Feuer!” The gun fire was deafening, and Charles watched with wide horrified eyes as the people dropped to the ground.  

Schmidt grabbed his jaw and forced him to make eye contact.  “And you, you ungrateful little brat will end up like them if you keep acting the way you do.  You will learn to do as you are told one way or another, or I will be the one to put the bullet in your skull myself.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir.”

 


	8. Erik

Erik had been worried when Charles had been gone for so long, it was not like Schmidt to keep one of them for so long, at least it never meant anything good for any of them.  By the time Charles was brought back, he looked different, his hair did, and that dead look had returned to his eyes.  The clothes he was in were new, and Erik did not want to think about what had happened to him.

Then the food came, actual food that they could eat followed by Schmidt.

“Charles proved his worth today, and as a reward, he has earned you all food for the next several days.  I hope you learn from his example.”  It was spoken in German, which by that point Janos and Azazel had both picked up, but as he listened to Schmidt, all he did was look at Charles.  Something bad had happened.  Something very bad.

Schmidt left and the food was placed by a guard in each of their cells.  Potatoes and sausage, and not the tiny portions that they had been given before.  

“Danke!” Janos chirped, smiling over at Charles before he dug into his food.

Charles just looked confused picking at the bits of food in his bowl.

“Thank you,” Erik said, and Charles finally glanced towards him.  “Danke.  Thank you.”

“Danke,” he said in a soft voice, eating a bit of the food in front of him.  God what on earth had Schmidt made Charles do to earn this food?  Erik moved closer to him, and held up a bit of the potato.

“Kartoffel,” Erik said before eating the potato chunk.  He could see Charles watching him, and wondered if he was actually listening to him.  “Hallo, mein Name ist Erik.”  He pointed to himself, then took a breath.  “Hello, my name is Erik.”

“Hallo, mein Name ist Charles.” 

He replied, he said a sentence in German.  It was a start, and maybe things would be a bit easier if he could speak the language.  He tried a few more words and phrases, but Charles just stopped replying after that one sentence.  Erik wanted to understand what had happened to him, wanted to show that he could talk and maybe that there was someone he could rely on.

“Charles,” he said in a softer tone, still working on the food.  He hated not being able to speak to him in German without sounding like a complete idiot.  There was another way though, and he hoped that what he wanted Charles to do came across.  Erik took Charles’s free hand and lifted it to his forehead, laying Charles’s hand against his forehead.  

It was the first time he had let the other mutant into his mind, and it was an oddly comforting feeling.  Erik showed him what he had been asked to do, the bodies in the medical area, the crematory where those bodies were burned.  The images of his father and sister moments before the gun went off, of his mother being shot in the forehead by Schmidt.

Erik kept his eyes on Charles, his hand covering Charles’s hand.  This was how they could communicate, talk between the two of them.  A way without words.

Then the pictures changed, things that Charles was letting him see.  The officers talking to him, the train with people coming off of it and being sorted, the screaming from the showers, the gunfire.  It made sense to him then why Charles had shut down.  Had he not been there for as long as he had, he would have withdrawn too, but Erik had to be strong, he had to keep the others safe.  He had to fight on for Janos and Azazel, and most of all Charles.

For the first time in a long time though, the four of them were able to relax, Charles eventually calm enough to entertain all of them with the animals.  It was one of the most incredible things that Erik had ever seen, and they felt real.  It was amazing to him that something like that could exist, that Charles could do something like this.

“What you do?”

Charles looked at him for a moment.  “Read minds, project images and,” he said in a soft voice.  “One time I think…I think I controlled someone’s mind.”

Incredible, completely incredible.  Not to mention what he had seen Charles do to that one soldier who had come a bit to close when he had panicked while his finger was being set.  “You incred-“ He scrunched his nose, trying to think of the word in English.  “Incredible.”

He had gotten the words out when he thought that he wouldn’t, it was an effort that he was trying to make for Charles. He wanted to protect him, maybe even more than Janos or Azazel.  Charles was different than the others, something about him just seemed like he could keep everyone else stable, keep them from breaking.  

By the time they had all finished the food, Janos had fallen asleep, and Azazel was sitting back in the corner of his cell.  Erik sat beside Charles, still carefully holding the other young mutant’s hand.  If it was what he could do to provide some level of comfort, then Erik would do whatever he could to give Charles that.

It wouldn’t last though.  Just as they had started to doze off, some sort of rumbling shook the entire barracks, enough that it woke them up.  Erik got to his feet, holding his hand out to keep Charles from following him.  He went up to the cell door and looked out as two soldiers and Schmidt moved down the hallway and unlocked another cell.  The young man was dragged out, yelling and kicking and the whole ground seemed to be shaking.

Charles was by his side at that point, his hand grasping onto the bar.  

Erik saw the glint of the gun.  “Janos look away!” He shouted to the little boy, who had been staring, but turned away.  The sound of the gun fire was like a canon had been set off in the small space.    It had been quick, the other boy was dead, but god his ears were ringing so badly. It took a moment before he realized someone was screaming, and that Charles’s bandaged hand was out beyond the bars.  The guard dropped dead, and Charles pulled his hand back in and retreated back to the corner.

He watched as Schmidt approached them, stared in at the two of them before he left, the other solider dragging the dead body out of the barracks.

What Charles had done had surprised him, before it had shaken him so badly when he had killed the guard and now?  He had done it on his own, he had done it without a second’s hesitation.  Something bad was going to happen, or maybe it was the start of something good.

Either way, Erik had no idea what to expect.


	9. Charles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts off with Schmidt's point of view, giving a little insight into a new character and his evil twisted mind. It really is brief, but I did want to let you all know.

Enough was enough.  Schmidt had never had to deal with a situation like that before, and he was not exactly a fan of what was happening, even if somewhere in the back of his mind he was completely impressed.  His soldiers were dying at the hands of a twelve year old boy, oh but only those who were going to get one of the out of the cells at his request, the rest were fine.  Charles was picking and choosing who lived and who died.  Enough was enough.

He had taken the keys from his desk and walked down the hall, twirling the keys around his finger.  There in one of the back rooms was his prize, was the one thing that could stop that telepath.  Only one thing could stop the young telepath.

Schmidt opened the door and looked into the room where the blonde girl was huddled on the bed, staring over at him with piercing blue eyes.

Another telepath.

__________________________________________________________________________________

Each time a guard came near the cell, they dropped dead.  The only ones who didn’t were the ones that Charles knew to be bringing the food for them.  All the others dropped dead.  It was easy for him to tell now, it was easy for him to figure out who had the food and who was coming to get one of them from the cells.  A peak in their minds, a quick look through their eyes and he knew which were bringing food, and which were going to bring pain.

People stopped coming, and for a while, none of them had fear.  Charles was absolutely exhausted though, and it was taking an incredible toll on him.  Most of the time he slept or lazily watched the others.  Erik had been snagging bits of metal from the dead bodies before they could be taken away, and was using them to entire tail Janos.  Each time he entered the mind of an individual and focused so hard that they died, he slept.  The others kept watch.  Sure Charles did not speak the same language as them, even if Erik was starting to learn English, but these people were his family now, and he’d do anything to keep them safe.

Charles had been asleep when the sound of shouting had reached his ears, angry words and voices that were enough to wake all of them from their slumber.  They had heard shouting before, but this was different, one of the voices was female.  The only women they had seen had been the one or two mutant girls who had been brought down into the cells, and most of the time they disappeared soon afterwards.  It was enough to make them all feel scared, and it only took Charles a simple look to figure that out for at least Janos and Azazel.  Azazel would snake his tail through the bars of the cell to hold Janos’s small hand, and the poor boy was shaking.  Erik was harder to read, though he had gotten so quiet, that was enough of a clue for Charles.

No one argued with Schmidt and lived very long.

No one argued with Schmidt if they had any sense.

After a moment, Charles closed his eyes, and went to try and figure out what was going on.

It was like someone had slammed a iron pan against his head.  Charles flinched, pushing himself back towards the corner of the cell that had become a safe spot for him.  A loud buzzing, and his head ached horribly, like nothing he had ever felt before.

He felt Erik’s hand on his shoulder, and he looked up his eyes blurry, barely able to see the outline of Erik’s features.  The buzzing wouldn’t go away, it felt like his entire head was vibrating.   

The he heard it, the footsteps, but his head hurt so bad that he couldn’t focus enough to try and stop it.

“Ah Charles I see you have met my newest friend, a really lovely young lady named Emma Frost.”

Charles looked up, and tried to focus on-  Why on earth was the lady sparkling?

“She has a most beautiful mutation, look at her boys, she’s a diamond.”

He must have meant that literally.  His vision started to focus again, and the young lady was indeed made of entirely diamonds.

Schmidt opened the door to their cell and walked inside, bending down in front of Charles and Erik.  Charles watched as Erik tried to put himself between the two of them, and he took his friend’s hand, trying to get him to relax.

“Charles, she’s a lot like you.  Intelligent, beautiful, and a telepath.  My darling Emma can stop anything you throw our way.”  The venom in his voice was almost palpable, and terrifying enough that Charles could not even form words to respond.

“You will do as I say Charles, you’ll be a good boy won’t you?”

Charles nodded his head.

“Good.”  Then he was looking down the barrel of a gun, and it felt like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest.  “Get up.  Both of you.  I have a special job for the two of you.”

Erik was the first to move, slowly getting to his feet, and Charles soon followed him.  Schdmit shoved Charles forward, making him lose his grip on Erik’s hand, and he glanced back quickly towards Erik as the two of them were made to follow Schmidt out of the barracks.  The diamond girl was still with them, but now she looked normal; blond hair tied up in a bun, and she was even wearing what looked like a uniform.

Charles had no idea what to think, what they could possibly be heading towards. It felt like the air outside was colder than it had been, but Charles couldn’t be sure if it was because it was actually cold, or if it was because he was scared…and it only got worse when he saw the lines of men in the stripped clothes.

He felt the gun at his back, and the eyes of the men and soldiers watching them.  “Charles your task is simple.  Since you enjoy killing so much you’re going to kill those men over there.  Their usefulness has come to an end, and you’re going to put an end to them.”

Charles whirled around staring at Schmidt with wide frightened eyes.  “N-No I can’t I-“  His head snapped back as the gun collided with the side of his face.  Charles’s hand went up to his cheek, feeling blood, and hot skin beneath his shaking hand.

“You will, and here is why.  If you don’t.”  Charles watched, his breath catching in his throat, as the gun was pointed at Erik.  “I’ll kill him.”

Those people…or Erik.  Those people or Erik.

Erik was just one person, those people were… He couldn’t think clearly enough to bother counting the number of people that were lined up.

Erik was just one person, but he was his friend and the others were going to die anyways.

Charles lowered his eyes, and turned around towards the line of people.  One hand outstretched, the other went to his temple, his eyes fixed on the men standing there.  

Without a second thought, Charles did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been toying with the idea of having a separate chapter about how the others got into Schmdit's hands (Azazel, Janos, and Emma), but not sure if something like that will happen.
> 
> Would you guys be interested in a set of One-Shots or Chapters that are about those three characters?


End file.
